


The Stone Man

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you seen the Stone Man that sits on that bench?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stone Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Watson's Woes prompt involving this picture:  
> 

He has been coming to this same bench under this same tree along this same walkway under this same lamp-post every evening people are allowed out of their homes. Sometimes death threatens from the air and the wise stay inside; he sometimes stays inside with them. But most often he goes to sit on his bench under his tree by his lamp-post. Children who were babes in arms when he began this ritual toddle past and call him the Stone Man; he does not respond. 

In spring the rains and chilly air necessitate the umbrella, where he sits like an old black-clad crow watching the women, children and aged men like himself hurry along on their business. Summer brings warmth and light; he sits in his linen suit and boater while people laugh and sing and picnic around him. Autumn and he wears a close hat and muffler against the wind while people cheer and the Kaiser dies a thousand times in effigy, wreathed in fireworks. 

Now snow and cold have brought back the greatcoat and the umbrella; the stone man sits on his bench under his black wing. The shops have not shut up for the evening yet so few walk the promenade at this hour. A messenger boy. A woman and her dog. A figure bundled against the weather in a pea coat. 

The cold, the grey stone that lives in his heart these days has slowed his brain and eyes. The latter fellow is all the way past him and down the walkway before his mind engages. 

Military pea coat – a discharged soldier. A major, by the set of his shoulders and his age. A slight limp, but from an old injury, nothing recent. Headed in the same direction he himself took every night afterward.

His feet feel…warm.

The umbrella tumbles from his hands to lie before his bench, encrusted with snow. He stands, feeling the flush of warmth rise up his legs like sap in the spring. 

A younger man – his younger self, his two-years-younger self – would have shouted a name, run toward the figure, would very likely have leaped clean over the bench in his pursuit. But this would not be the first time he has been made foolish in public by an old soldier with a limp. He walks, steadily and silently, with purpose. The warmth rises and curls in his belly. 

The old soldier has passed another bench and is nearly to the next when the stone man reaches him. They see each other.

This deserted hour in this bitter weather is surely a gift from God. Only the indifferent umbrella witnesses their cries of greeting, their embrace that refuses to end, their whispered words of welcome.

Tomorrow, children will look in vain for the Stone Man, and one lucky passerby will have a fine umbrella for his very own.


End file.
